


ANOTHER TIME SERIES: THE ROMAN CENTURION

by vanhunks



Series: ANOTHER TIME SERIES [an über series of stories] [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Uber story; Voy characters in another time; Different kind of AU tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 09:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15603798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanhunks/pseuds/vanhunks
Summary: In the ancient town of Sidon under Roman rule during the first century [CE], the Roman centurion Flavius [Tomas] Parisi witnesses a public stoning. He intervenes in a situation that will set in motion a chain of events for him.





	ANOTHER TIME SERIES: THE ROMAN CENTURION

**Author's Note:**

> First written in 1998 [twenty years ago!] and posted on the old ASC - Alt.startrek.creative. I created the Another Time series in which I've set Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres literally in another time. This one is first century CE. These were of the early stories where writers wrote pieces in which their characters lived in another time and place. It was relatively new to fanfic at the time. Many called it "not-Trek", others referenced it as another kind of AU. We simply called them "über stories"
> 
> "The Roman Centurion" is the first in the saga in the development of the Flavius [Tom] and Eleni [B'Elanna] relationship. 
> 
> I'm posting my P/T story here. They have been off the 'net for many years, unless readers search Trekiverse. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The usual - Paramount owns P/T!

* * *

**THE ROMAN CENTURION**

* * *

 

**The ancient town of Sidon**

He sat astride his magnificent black stallion that clopped its way through the throng of people milling the short, dusty cobbled lanes that flanked the market place of the busy town.

The horse whinnied impatiently as his master tried to soothe the temperamental beast, his hand caressing the long glistening neck, making soothing clucking sounds to it. It seemed the animal listened, yet its trot held barely contained nervous energy, as if, at a signal from its master, it would break into a canter and then race off at great speed.

Flavius held the reins loosely, giving his stallion just enough slack to obey his barely spoken commands.

It was yet another hot, dusty day, and like his beast, Flavius was impatient to get moving through the busy streets to his home on the hilly outskirts of Sidon. Village shielded their eyes against the unforgiving sun, perhaps mirroring the great centurion's desire to recline in a cool bath.

The young centurion felt clammy, sweaty. He had been in uniform all day and was dying to get out of it. It sat well on him, as natural as his seat was on his horse. The breastplate gleamed, reflecting the rays of the sun. Flavius' feet were shod with the strapped sandals worn by soldiers, the thongs crisscrossing right up to just below his knees. The short red tunic, overlaid by leather panels round his waist lent him grace, as did his plumed helmet. The epaulettes were two round silver disks to which was attached his long red toga, fanning out over his back, down almost to his feet.

All that was really visible of his face, were his eyes, now plotting his way ahead. Some children came scurrying along in his direction, causing his steed to rear nervously. They screamed excitedly as they ducked out of the way of the beast.

"Peace, Orion. They're children. No need to get nervous," he soothed the animal. But the town of Sidon was full of children, it seemed, carefree with none of the things that would perturb them later in life. Was it only three years ago in another town that he stood, imperious in red, a distance away from where a young man, not much older than himself beckoned the children to come to Him? But he was a Roman who believed in a great number of gods, yet he found this Man's philosophy held a certain appeal. But, he mused, now was not the time to dwell on philosophies while the hot sun was beating down on him.

The children, it seemed, were running away from some scuffling ahead, about a hundred ell distance. He was immediately on the alert. Orion snorted impatiently as Flavius made his way through the crowd, curious as well as aware that it was his duty to maintain order.

He approached the general area of the commotion. Most of the rest of the crowd seemed oblivious of what was happening, carrying on with their daily excursions as if nothing happened and perhaps a fight meant nothing to them. So like these people, he thought - going their own way, uncaring of the storms and strife of life unless it was their own.

"No one cares, Flavius," his friend Marcus Tullius, that arrogant Roman used to tell him. "Why should we?"

He approached the group, who immediately deferred to his presence, some even scared. Men and women who surrounded the unknown person who was lying in the centre of the circle. His heart went out to the unfortunate individual who'd clearly been stoned and beaten. Dressed in rags, face bleeding, abrasions on the bare arms, he tried to raise himself on his elbow. Dark deep brown hair fanned over his shoulder. Dark eyes connected briefly with his before gazing at the ground again. Dark pleading eyes, Flavius noticed.

He had clearly halted a public stoning.

"What is going on here!" he commanded nevertheless.

When no one answered, he barked, "Who is that man?"

There was a deadly silence in which the young man kept his gaze fixed on the ground.

"My lord," one of the men ventured, obviously fearing a Roman backlash caught in the act of stoning a defenseless person, "that is a woman! She is a pretender! She is evil!"

"It seems to me those casting stones should speak about themselves," Flavius retorted as he dismounted swiftly. The crowd opened a way for him while some mysteriously disappeared. The Senate had banned stoning.

He bent down and studied the woman, young still, with great fear in her eyes. She appeared badly injured, with cuts and deep bruises on her arms. Her face and forehead had deep scars, especially her forehead. That was not the result of stoning or beating. Someone had taken a blade and cut grooves deep into her skin. Her breathing was shallow, her bosom heaving rhythmically in the act of drawing and expelling air. But it was her eyes that spoke to Flavius - deep pain, fear and pride. Yet he sensed also pride as her eyes filled with fire.

Managing to hide his shock at the scars on her face he reached out to touch her. She flinched instantly.

"Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you."

He held out his hand to her. She glanced around at the men who had thrown stones at her and started trembling again. Most had disappeared, but some remained, ready to continue their torment of her once the centurion had lost interest in the girl. So they believed. She looked at his hand again, long tapering fingers that could control the reins of his stallion, that could tame the beast. For a moment she imagined him on the horse, galloping across the hills of Sidon at breakneck speed.

 The centurion's hand invited trust. She sensed tithe racing heartbeats slowed down, her fear lessened. Slowly she put out her hand, not daring to look this important officer in the eye. She took his hand. He pulled her gently up.

Flavius hid his surprise. She was much smaller than he imagined. She reminded him of a young colt.

"Who did this to you?" he asked her, not unkindly. Her eyes remained cast down.

"My lord," one of the men said, "she is a runaway slave."

"Your master?"

She nodded. Then she sagged and would have fallen down if he did not catch her and held her against him. Her thin body felt bony, the shivering still wracking her body.

"You need help," he said to her. He looked at the men standing around her. "Who is her owner?" Then he directed his question at her. But she would not speak.

"She is owned by a trader who was going to sell her here, in the market," said one of the men.

"Fine," Flavius said, as he took out his pouch, removed several gold denarii and threw it at their feet. "She is my property now. See that the trader gets his money!"

She looked carefully at the centurion who had come to her rescue. He had removed his helmet and hung it on one of the saddle rungs.

His golden hair was damp from the sweat, his eyes startling blue. He had patrician features, she thought, of high birth and rank, not a common soldier. It was in the lines of his face, the sharp, yet sculpted nose, his bearing.

He deftly lifted her up on his horse. Because she was dressed like a boy, she sat astride the horse, surprising him that Orion did not buck under her. He was the only one the great beast tolerated. Just a gentle snort and a scuffing of a hoof.

"My horse likes you," he said to her as the crowd parted.

She looked at him, the first person not to shrink at her appearance, who appeared friendly towards her. She touched her forehead where Quintus used his dagger and carved it open. She had screamed in pain then. The blood had dried now. The wounds will heal, she knew, then wondered whether the scars would remain. But Quintus was a maniac, bent on sadistic pleasures, used to tying her in manacles for his sexual appetites. At least her new owner seemed more friendly. Perhaps he would treat her better, she hoped. She had escaped the clutches of an evil man. Things could not get worse than that.

"Thank you," she said softly, looking into the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"No need to thank me." Flavius graced her with a smile.

It was his smile that gave her the assurance she hoped for. No, she decided, he would be a good master.

By the time they reached his home, a stable boy had run out to meet them. Flavius lifted the young woman off, marveling at how light she felt, and how thin. She shook like a leaf, though her head remained bent. Flavius gave an inward cluck of impatience as she refused to look at him.

"Come with me."

His hand on her shoulder he coaxed her forward into the cooler, shaded area of the courtyard. They were met by an older woman who smiled when she saw Flavius. Then her eyes fell on the young girl whose clothes and face and arms were bloodied.

"Oh, sweet Diana!" she cried as she took the young girl's hand. "Let me take you inside, out of the burning sun!"

She clucked over the girl as she urged her towards the house. Her son has rescued yet another slave. But Tullia noticed instantly her son's regard for the young woman. This one will stay, she thought.

The girl bowed her head in deference, and was on the point of kneeling, when the centurion held her up.

"Here you do not have to bow or defer. You are free."

Before she could register any shock, he addressed the older woman.

"Mother, she - " Then he looked at her, a quizzical look in his eyes, realising that he had never asked the slave's name. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Eleni. Eleni of Crete," she said softly.

"Eleni of Crete," he said, rolling her name on his tongue.

"Master - "

"No, don't call me that, Eleni of Crete! Don't ever call me that," he said softly, gazing into her eyes.

She looked at him, then asked, perhaps braver than she thought:

"What then shall I call you, Roman Centurion to whom I owe my life?"

"Flavius. I am Flavius Tomas Parisi of Alexandria. And this is my mother, Tullia."

 THE END

 

Next: Eleni of Crete


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